


A Different Beginning

by ProfessorFrankly



Series: Fluff Bingo 2019-2020 [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 06:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19941502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFrankly/pseuds/ProfessorFrankly
Summary: Sherlock Holmes meets John Watson at Speedy's Cafe.





	A Different Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> For Fluff Bingo 2019. The square was "Cafe." This is a spiritual sequel to The Holmes Factor, and while you don't need to have read that in order to understand this, if you have read it, it will make a little more sense. Just know that BBC's Sherlock is the reincarnated 19th century Sherlock Holmes, and he has magic. That's probably enough to be going on with.

Speedy’s was crowded.

Sherlock was not impressed.

Living practically on top of a restaurant could be a boon on days when food seemed a distant memory and the energy to actually eat could not be found. But equally, it could be a large pain in the proverbial arse when silence was preferred.

Thank Merlin he’d installed soundproofing in the place when he’d taken it over, or he’d probably have needed to close the restaurant part down. And then Mrs. Hudson would be cross, as her current paramour owned the business. Though he rented the space from Sherlock, which gave him a nice little side income.

Mrs. Hudson had the back apartment, 221A, while Sherlock had the rooms directly above at 221B, for his offices and for his living space. Ever since he’d taken over the premises of his great-grandfather, he’d kept the rooms above his free.

Just in case.

There was no telling if John Watson had actually reincarnated along with his partner, but his great-grandfather certainly hoped the ritual they’d conducted, which created a soul imprint for Sherlock the Elder in the deerstalker cap that he’d left to his heir, would also allow John’s spirit to be present in his heir’s life, as well.

Sherlock was content to wait.

But not in this line. 

Couldn’t landlord status grant him a cut in line, at the very least?

Sherlock looked at his phone as he reached the front of the line, looking up only when Farraj called his name from behind the counter.

“Sherlock! Wotcher want?”

“Just the special, please,” Sherlock said, pocketing the phone. “And tea the way I like it.”

“Eating here, or …?”

Sherlock looked around the crowded cafe, spotting a seat next to a short blond man, a war vet who was nursing a single cup of coffee. “That seat taken back there?”   
“Nah, it’s free. Bloke there looks like he could use a meal, but he just got the coffee,” Farraj said.

“Get me two specials then,” Sherlock said. “I’ll treat him to lunch.”

“Right, then,” Farraj said. “On your tab?” 

“Yeah, alright,” Sherlock replied, taking the tray with the tea and two lunch specials on it. “Thanks.”

Farraj waved him off, and Sherlock made his way back to the blond man, sitting next to him in the empty seat and unceremoniously taking one of the lunch special plates--gammon sandwich and salad--and setting it in front of the man’s seat, nudging his coffee aside. “Lunch will make you feel better,” Sherlock said abruptly.

The man raised a brow. “And how do you know that I need to feel better?”

Sherlock waved him off. “A military man, clearly just back from the war, nursing a single cup of coffee in a corner of a cafe in a quite nice neighborhood, scrolling through his phone? Clearly you’re looking for a place you can afford, are unhappy about the state of your finances, uncertain about your future, and in need of a good feeding up.”

The blond’s eyebrows furrowed. “How did you …”

“Oh, it’s what I do. I’m a consulting detective,” Sherlock nodded toward the cane. “Came back injured, did you?”

“Yes, and frankly, you’re right. I’d like to live in London, but my Army pension isn’t going to cover it, and I can’t count on work as a surgeon with the state of my hands,” he said, raising fingers that trembled slightly.

“So you’re an Army doctor?” Sherlock asked, impressed.

“Well, a soldier with a medical degree,” the man replied, and held out a hand. “John Watson.”

Sherlock’s heart gave a great leap in his chest, and began to race. He hoped it didn’t show on his face as he took John’s hand and said, “Sherlock Holmes. You know, I live just upstairs. I’ve got a spare room. How do you feel about a flatmate?”

“Depends on the flatmate, I suppose,” John said slowly. “A consulting detective, you said? What does a consulting detective do?”

“Well, what it sounds like,” Sherlock said, perplexed. “When the police are stumped on a case, then consult with me and I solve it for them. Sometimes I take private clients, too. I conduct private forensic experiments in pursuit of knowledge. I play the violin at all hours. Honestly, I’m probably not a very good flatmate. But I did install soundproofing when I took over the building, so there’s that.”

John smiled. “Hmm. And you need a flatmate, do you? Did you just say that you owned the building?”

Sherlock internally groaned. “Yes, my great-grandfather left it to me. Or, rather, to the next ‘Sherlock,’ who happens to be me. He was a consulting detective, too.”

“I see.” John looked him over, then picked up the sandwich. “And what would I do?”

“Oh, well, I could probably use a medical man who’s not afraid of a bit of action,” Sherlock admitted. “Just last night I had to detain a culprit with nothing but a zip tie and bit of wit. A partner could be useful.”

John’s eyebrows shot up. He really did have expressive eyebrows, Sherlock thought irreverently. “I would say so.”

“Of course, if you’d not like to join me, that’s fine, too,” Sherlock said, picking up his own sandwich and taking a bite. They chewed in silence for a moment. “I mean, I can tell you’re a good person in a bit of a rough spot. If nothing else, take the rooms for a bit, we’ll work out a reasonable rent, and you can get back on your feet.”

“And what’s in it for you?” John asked.

Sherlock smiled. “A bit of your company, is all.”

John set his sandwich down. “I’m not gay, Sherlock.”

“No, no, I don’t mean to proposition you,” Sherlock said hurriedly. “Honestly. I’m actually, well, I guess the right term is demisexual? Sex is actually very far down on my list of priorities. But I do get lonely, and I could use the company, and I am really not joking about finding a medical man useful on some of my adventures.”

John sort of stared at him for a moment, then picked up the sandwich again. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“My brother would tell you I don’t joke,” Sherlock said weakly, then spotted the silver-haired form of Detective Gregory Lestrade in the door to the cafe, looking until he spotted Sherlock. “Lestrade!”

Lestrade strode forward, and leant down. “We’ve got a note.”

“On the serial suicide case?” Sherlock cackled. “Oh, it’s Christmas.”

“Will you come?” Lestrade asked urgently.

“Of course, I’ll be right behind you. Text me the location.”

Lestrade nodded, and headed out to his waiting car.

Sherlock’s phone beeped. Lestrade had been prompt in sending the text.

Sherlock looked sideways at John. “Seen a fair bit of action, have you?”

“Yes.”

“Violence, too.”

“Yes, far too much. Enough for a lifetime.”

Sherlock grinned. “Want to see some more?”

“Oh, God, yes.”

  
  



End file.
